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Chapter 27

IRIS

It was no surprise that Tidemoor Keep, in all its revelry, harbored many hidden sanctuaries within its walls.

Aspen and I currently resided in the top room of a tower in the east wing, sprawled across an array of floor cushions. Four fire pits flickered at the corners of a still meditation pool, their glow reflecting off the rippling surface. Grazing tables laden with fruit, cheese, and wine were scattered around the room, the air thick with spice and incense. The hazy warmth of the setting sun clung to our skin.

The reason we’d chosen this spot, though, was the view.

The wall that should’ve faced the sea was gone, exposing the vast gardens of Tidemoor Keep and the waters beyond. Streaks of pink and purple bled across the sky, painting the landscape in a swash of color. Aspen sat stiff beside me, his mouth set in a hard, firm line as he looked over the horizon, an unopened bottle of burgundy wine clutched in his hands.

I threw a cube of cheese at him.

“The realms will not fall if you enjoy yourself, Prince.” It bounced off the top of his stark white hair, landing on the pillow.

“You lack any sense of table manners, Virlana.” He rubbed at his head, staring at the affronting dairy with disdain.

“Oh!” I exclaimed, saccharine sweet. “How wonderful, another thing we have in common. You lack any manners, Gavalon.”

“I’ve received etiquette lessons since the age of two,” he argued. “I am the picture of decorum.” His face remained impassive, but I glimpsed the spark in his eyes. Despite myself, I reveled in the ability to bring it forth.

“How then, I ponder, did you become such a prat?” I lobbed another cube of cheese.

“Divine intervention,” he deadpanned as it bounced off his jaw.

“Ah, yes,” I conceded, “Damn Divine, ruining that pretty little face of yours with petulance.”

“Call me pretty again, Virlana.”

“Stop talking.” My head lolled back against the cushion, eyes closed as I drank in the last remnants of sunlight. “You’ll ruin it.”

“Do you truly find me so miserable?”

“Yes—” I smiled, but the word caught in my throat as I opened my eyes. The spark I saw before was gone, replaced with something heaver. It looked almost…pleading.

“No,” I amended, admitting out loud what I’d decided long ago but had been unable to face.

Frustrating? Yes.

Intriguing? Also yes.

It had been months, and I still couldn’t discern where his loyalty lay. Which of the many versions of him was real? Was I a naive fool for enjoying his company—bickering and the fleeting camaraderie alike? Had I simply been blinded by years of isolation?

Aspen was as pompous as the Divine, surely a product of his family…but in what way?

Their progeny, or their pawn?

“I find you confusing,” I admitted.

Despite it, I wanted to know him. However foolish it was.

“Preposterous. I’m an open book.” The corner of his mouth twitched as he closed the space between us. I shuffled sideways, making room on the jade velvet cushion. “Ask me anything.”

“Anything?”

“You wish for me to confess my deep, dark secrets and become best friends?” He plucked a grape from the tray at my feet, popping it into his mouth and chewing slowly. “I don’t have friends, Virlana.”

“Bullshit,” I protested. “You have Theon.”

“Theon is duty-bound to me.” No resentment or sadness lined his words, only fact. He actually believed it.

I frowned. “It is foolish that you think that’s his only reason.”

“Ask me a question, Virlana.” He ignored my comment.

“Do you think the book will have anything meaningful to help us?” The thought blurted out, escaping the relentless circling of my mind. An inkling of shame burrowed under my skin. This had been the first time we’d acknowledged the cure the entire time we’d been here. I’d been enjoying this—this frivolity, this freedom—while people lay dying. While my mother remained shackled by a bond that controlled her magic.

It was selfish.

“My deepest secret?” he gasped. “You’re pushing it.” Waves crashed over rocks outside, not drowned out by the waterfall on this side of the castle. Moonlight brightened Aspen’s grey-blue eyes, the sounds of nature enveloping us, as his face softened.

“Yes,” he conceded. “Because you believe it will.” Conviction laced every syllable. The sea shimmered with the sun’s lingering reflection. Aspen took a swig from the bottle, wiping the lingering dark red droplets the back of his hand.

His sleeves were pushed up, veins stark against his pale skin. White scars of varying degrees peppered his forearms, twins to those on my own right arm. I traced them with my eyes, the same way I had the night before—the ones on his face grounding me. The long gouge by his brow, the crooked groove across his nose, the wide gash down his chin. They seemed out of place, so at odds with his lavishness.

“My belief is not enough to cure a plague,” I said, looking away.

Your persistence is.”

“What makes you believe so?”

“Ah, ah!” He pulled my focus back to him with a finger on my chin, then seized another grape. “Manners, Virlana, require taking turns. You’ve already asked your question.”

“I have no manners, as you’ve said.” I stole back the grape, holding it between my teeth before slicing it in half.

“You make that ever so clear,” he mumbled. “Regardless, it is now my turn. Why do you stifle yourself in Vaelithe?”

“That’s a rather bold assumption,” I scoffed, pulling several strands over my shoulder to braid. “I do important work for Vaelithe. I’m damn good at my job.”

“Obviously, or you wouldn’t be here.” He gestured vaguely to the room around us. “You’re frustratingly competent. I’m not so painfully obtuse to ignore the changes in the infirmary since your arrival.” It seemed almost painful for him to admit. “But I refuse to believe someone as ambitious as you is content living in the same division of Vaelithe for the rest of your existence.”

I stole the bottle from him, taking a long, deliberate swig.

“Uncouth,” he whispered, snatching it back.

“I never said I planned on staying there for the rest of existence.”

I ran my fingers through the braid, loosening it to start again.

“It’s more complicated than that.”

He waited.

“I think… maybe I would like to travel.” The words were quiet. As if speaking them too loud would set them in stone, the smoky breeze carrying them all the way back to Vaelithe. “Maybe someday in the future.”

He nodded slowly. “What do you wish to find?”

“I’m not sure,” I admitted. “I want to… experience life. I want to see rare flowers and try new foods and wear pretty gowns. I want to smile at children playing and swim in the ocean and experiment with potions. I want to laugh until I’m hoarse, and watch sunsets, and marvel at how much there is to live for. I know that all must seem rather frivolous and mundane, but I think…” I hesitated. “I think I want to remind myself how much beauty there is. How many glorious things persevere, despite it all.”

“I think that sounds wonderful,” he said, his voice quiet.

“What do you hope for?” I asked tentatively. He tended to storm from a room when conversations veered toward things he didn’t wish to discuss, and I wasn’t ready for that. Not yet. “If we find a cure and this plague is gone, what are all your wildest dreams, Gavalon?” I smiled up at him, but his face had gone stony again, distance clouding his eyes. I could recognize the shift now, cool grey replacing silver, when he built that wall of ice. Separating himself, brick by brick.

“I do not have the luxury of hope.”

“Hope is not such a bad thing,” I countered gently. “You deserve hope.”

He sighed deeply, scrubbing a hand through his perfect hair, an errant strand falling over his forehead. “It doesn’t matter if it’s bad or good or somewhere in between. It’s irrelevant. My life is already predetermined.”

He tilted his face toward the ceiling, eyes shutting tightly before blowing out a slow breath. “I will eventually have a real arrangement, probably far more docile than this one,” he laughed darkly. “To someone who does have an association that will strengthen the fragile, broken alliances my mother and father have left in ruin. I will wed them, sire heirs, and run my parents’ kingdom because that is what is required of me. There is no need to hope for anything else.”

“Why?” I asked softly. “Why cling to such outdated ideals?”

“Because that is the way it is.” His eyes darkened. “I do not dare to dream, or hope, or wish, because it is unnecessary. I will fulfill my duty—to my family, to my kingdom. That is all that matters.”

“I—”

“Your turn.”

It wasn’t, but I wouldn’t waste the opportunity.

The conversation about his family was closed. Pressing the matter, as much as I longed to, would risk the tentative ease we’d finally fallen back into. So instead, I dissected. Combed through everything he’d confessed.

If there was one thing we both understood, it was loyalty.

I wondered if he, too, thought about running away. Dreamed of sprinting barefoot into the wilderness and starting again. Of finally taking a deep breath, one that filled your lungs for the very first time. Cracked them wide open and made you realize you’d never really experienced air before. Of starting over. If the guilt at just the idea ate him alive, too.

A true arranged partnership would have me, for one, considering it.

Probably far more docile than this one.

“Do you truly find me so miserable?” I wondered if he’d avoid the question—sneer or placate or lie. I drank from the bottle again, though his hand remained firmly wrapped around the neck of it. It was weaker than moonwine, but my spirit had lightened, body at ease and tongue looser, nonetheless.

“No,” he frowned, pulling the bottle back to him. “I find you?—”

“Don’t you dare say what I?—”

“Fascinating,” he finished.

I coughed, hand flying to my chest as I choked on the wine. His words echoed in my head, over and over, as I reached for the glass of water he handed me, looking alarmed. Exchanging it for the bottle again, I drank. Profusely.

I find you fascinating.

“Why?” I asked.

“I don’t think you understand the rules of this game, Virlana.” His brow furrowed as he brought the bottle to his lips, never breaking eye contact. “And you have no idea how to drink wine from a bottle without making a mess.”

I wiped at the liquid on my chin as his eyes followed a droplet down to the hollow of my neck. Picking up a cloth, I dabbed there as well.

“If you’re so skilled at everything,” I said, pushing at his chest, “show me, oh majestic Frost Prince of Kacidon, how to perform the simplest of tasks. Since you are apparently vastly superior.”

His grin turned wicked.

Instead of dramatically flourishing the bottle and bringing it to his own lips, he leaned forward. Two fingers hooked under my chin as he lifted the bottle higher, the cool rim pressing gently against my bottom lip. I parted my lips in response, and he tipped the bottle up, the smooth, sweet liquid gliding across my tongue as his pale eyes bore into mine.

A cool wind ghosted across my lips before his thumb replaced it, collecting a stray drop of wine. His hand, calloused to my surprise, skimmed my jaw—a featherlight touch followed by another gust of wind. My breath hitched.

His fingers trailed along the braid I had been toying with, twirling the end before releasing it.

“Your turn,” I rasped, my voice cracking.

He brought the bottle to his lips and finished it, his tongue flicking out to catch the last remnants.

Clearing his throat, Aspen set the empty bottle aside. “The woman from earlier—who is she to you?”

Cecily.

She was…The relief of a fresh rain. The gentleness of a friend you grew with. The eagerness of a first love.

“She was my first love,” I confessed.

“I’m sorry if it was difficult to see her.” Sincerity filled his expression.

“It wasn’t,” I laughed softly. “It was… relieving.”

His face wrinkled in confusion, so I continued.

“She… We were young. Barely eighteen. She kept saying she felt a tug to explore, to leave Vaelithe behind. I wouldn’t—couldn’t—go with her. We might not have lasted, it was young love. There was so much about ourselves we didn’t know. But I’ve harbored guilt for it.” I sniffed tears back. I could still see the heartbreak on her face when it finally sank in—when she realized that I loved her, but I wouldn’t leave for her.

It clawed at my chest, having hurt her so deeply.

“Do you think she’ll share who you are with Kelledryn?” At my confused expression, he clarified. “Aren’t you concerned about what we told the queen? Cecily must know you aren’t related to any Duke.”

“She doesn’t,” I said. “Cecily and I met in the Wilds foraging. I spent time...” Snuck out against my mother's wishes, or made excuses that I was at Gideon’s was more accurate, but I didn’t tell him that. “At her cottage often. I wasn’t forthcoming with my personal life.”

“You say you loved her, though?”

I nodded. “That doesn’t mean I had any idea what I was doing.”

I couldn’t tell her about any of it. Back then, I’d hid it all. Too afraid to get caught in the web of lies and deceit that I omitted everything about my past or family.

“She taught me more about life than I could ever thank her for,” I added.

He tilted his head, and I could’ve sworn I caught his eyes soften.

“She actually felt drawn to Marikaim…” I pondered the possibility, hopeful. “Maybe she needed to be here.”

“You think something pulled her here?” he asked.

“Or someone.” I smiled. “She’ll always be special to me. I’m grateful for what we shared. But it was best—for both of us.” I shifted, pulling my knees to my chest.

“So, seeing her with the queen?—”

“I was grateful for it,” I huffed a laugh. “That she found what she deserves. Maybe if I travel, if I see what’s out there… I will too.”

“Maybe so.” He eyed me carefully.

I let my knees fall outward, my skirt pooling around me, and pulled the tray of fruit and cheese into my lap.

“Why do you act like such a pest when politics are concerned? I’ve watched you. When you try, you’re rather good at it.” I bit another cube of cheese, and he eyed it skeptically, no doubt waiting for me to throw it at him. “You just choose to be an arrogant, closed-off ass most of the time.”

“Admitting that you watch me, Virlana?” He winked, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

More than I’d like.

“That’s what you got from that?” I sighed. “You don’t truly need an Emissary. Why do you choose to be so antagonistic?”

“It’s my charm,” he drawled, stretching out the last word, his head tilting.

When I didn’t take the bait, he bit his cheek, pondering for a long moment before continuing.

“Being good at something doesn’t mean you enjoy it. And I don’t like doing it alone.”

I didn’t need to ask why. Theon got to accompany him, if he needed an Emissary. The prince prefers solitude. Contradictory, though perhaps that platitude only extended to the guard.

Yet, he’d sat with me every afternoon in the woods.

“Where did you learn how to handle affairs like this?”

Aspen’s next question came as night fully fell, stars blinking into the sky. He shifted to look at them, and our shoulders brushed.

“What?” I asked.

“The affairs of court,” he clarified. “You know how to play the game.”

Several years of grueling training for it.

Normally, the mere thought of it—the reminder of my time with the Sunchosen—would have set my panic ablaze. Tonight, there was only a small stir of pride. That skill wasn’t from them. Not entirely.

“People tell you quite a lot when you’re willing to listen. You only have to look for what nobody else does.”

“You study people?”

“I study everything.”

I reached for the wine bottle. It lifted easier than expected, reminding me that it was already empty.

“More wine?” I asked, standing before I saw his response.

I took a step, but before I could move, a hand closed around my ankle.

I looked down at where Aspen sat. For the first time, his face was… open. No barrier. No icy glare. He looked younger.

“Iris?” Divine, his voice had dropped several octaves.

“If I had to choose…” His fingers grazed the bone beneath them. Slowly. So fucking slowly. He began dragging them upward, his thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles around the muscle.

My breathing was shallow. “Choose?”

“For an arrangement.”

I nodded. The hem of my skirt lifted as his hand traveled. So, so slowly.

I was grateful he hadn’t grabbed my left leg. Too many things to explain.

He never broke eye contact. It was thrilling, looking down at him like this.

“I’d quite like it to be…” His throat bobbed. Calloused palms moved against my calf. “Someone like you.”

“I don’t have any alliances.” My throat caught.

“I know.”

So much lingered in his gaze. Things he’d never let me see before.

It chipped a piece of me away. One small, jagged shard breaking free.

And then, he was just a boy in the woods. And I didn’t know who his mother and father were, and I didn’t know what they’d done, and I didn’t have a Goddess-damned tattoo inked from birth marring my skin.

He was just someone I’d thrown a stylograph at once.

It was confusing—how he could be both. Someone who shut down and left the room at my mere presence… and also looked at me like that.

His hand inched higher.

I’d sought out a prophet once, when I was younger. A powerful seer, one I’d hoped could tell me the impossible. Who could give me a way to change my fate. Who would tell me it was all right to dream, to want, to wish for more.

Spent every last silver I had visiting her.

“Why?” My voice was barely a whisper.

One last coin slid across a seer’s wooden table.

“Because you’d never let me rest.” A half smile. Higher. “Would that be so preposterous?”

A shuddering breath. I wasn’t sure who it came from.

Another inch higher.

“No.”

I forgot all of it, lowering back down to where he was, looking at me with that openness…

“Shit,” he hissed?—

Then blood spurted across the hem of my dress.